


I Know

by mybelovedcheshire



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, POV First Person, Post-Reichenbach, regrets and questions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-10
Updated: 2012-12-10
Packaged: 2017-11-20 19:07:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/588673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mybelovedcheshire/pseuds/mybelovedcheshire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From the mind of Dr. Daniel S. Anderson, SOCO and forensic scientist for the Metropolitan Police, New Scotland Yard.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Know

I’ve been to a graveyard before. I lost my mother a few years ago, and my dad ages before that. It didn’t bother me. I guess I wasn’t attached. 

I hated you. Hated— absolutely bloody loathed you. 

But standing here… standing here in the fucking rain… I’ve never felt this cold.

I hated you. I hate you. I hate your fucking sarcasm, and your insults, and your stupid sociopathic disregard for everyone and everything that matters. I hate your obsession with detectve work and corpses and murder and death. 

I hate you. 

But I hate that it ended like this. I didn’t want this.

I wonder if I should feel guilty.

Rainwater is soaking into my trousers and I fucking hate you for that. 

Why’d you do it? Suicide… it’s not logical. It doesn’t have to be, I guess. You were a fraud. You set that whole bloody thing up, you son of a… 

I don’t even know if I believe that now. 

You were too good. You knew all the anwers. All we bloody wanted to do was question you, you stupid, selfish prick. If you’d just fucking come quietly— why the hell did you run if you weren’t guilty? Why in sodding— fuck this rain! Why would you run if you didn’t do it?

We found that body. We did, you know.

But he shot himself. Any blind idiot would know that. I can fucking hear your stupid voice saying it. ‘Observe the clues’— no bloody shit, Sherlock. What did you think we were doing? There’s just a fucking process for us. We have to obey rules, unlike you and your stupid, amoral, illegal, irresponsible… 

What’s that line about not speaking ill of the dead? 

…are you really gone, Holmes? Are you? Because I wouldn’t put it past you to turn up on Lestrade’s doorstep tomorrow with evidence in hand. I bet I could dig a bloody hole in the earth and find an empty casket. I’ve got half a mind to do it, you know. Anything to put you in— 

…to put your ego in the ground. 

I was doing my job, you know. Al the facts, all the evidence pointed to you. Everything— that screaming girl, the way you always knew. You just knew things that I could never have predicted. Science can’t do what you did. Logic could not do what you did. You saw things that weren’t real. 

I never doubted what you could do it.

I just think you got bored. 

You’re such an arse— a great, fucking arsehole. Not just to me — to everyone. It’s like you didn’t care about anyone else. You didn’t care about the lives you upset, the people you hurt to get to your precious answers. Why Lestrade ever liked you… why Sally gave you a chance at the beginning? I knew from the first day that I met you that you were a selfish dick of a man.

And I think you’re being selfish right now. 

I am bloody standing up. Living, breathing arseholes don’t deserve the sympathy of me sitting in the fucking mud, getting soaked while I talk to a stupid, bloody rock about how much of an idiot they are. 

Now look here. 

I don’t trust you. I don’t trust you for a moment. I never have— I never did. That’s why I turned you over to the Chief. That’s why I convinced Lestrade to bring it up in the first place. Because you’re a devil of a man, Sherlock Holmes, and you knew something about that case that you weren’t telling us. 

You ran, and I don’t know why you did it, but we missed something. 

Something happened that no one knows except for you, and that dead man.

There are four Jim Moriartys living in Britain. And Richard Brook’s records go back to the day of his birth— he has no parents, but he has witnesses. He has the Kitty girl, but even she only met him recently, which… it’s not enough, but it makes me wonder. 

You could manipulate facts so easily… it didn’t seem possible. But at the end of the day, you were always right. You couldn’t have manufactured every single one of those cases. You just couldn’t. I was there on your very first case, and I put it down to bloody luck. Maybe you made it up — tricked us. Whatever. But you couldn’t have done it for the next hundred.

You just couldn’t. 

The science always supported your conclusions.

And I’ve seen you be wrong. 

You always got it in the end— but I’ve fucking seen you be wrong, Holmes.

And if you could do it— if it was a real thing that you could do, and not just some… faerie tale. Then logically, of the eight billion people in the world, there must be someone else with the same skill. 

It can’t just be you. 

I went over every detail myself. I ran every test twice. And I know things that we didn’t know a week ago. 

I know there’s been a lot of construction around your flat. I know someone put cameras in your building. I know someone tampered with the hotel security systems and televisions the day of the Crown Jewel Heist trial. I know that there was not time for you to have kidnapped those children yourself. 

I know that you didn’t actually enjoy the fame. 

No one could have faked the disdain on your face when we gave you that hat.

I know that Lestrade thinks you’re innocent. I know that Sally refuses to think about it at all. I know there are other people on the force who genuinely regret that you’re gone. Some are thinking ‘Good riddance’… but not as many as you’d expect.

I may hate you, but we respected what we thought you could do. 

…I know that something happened on that rooftop that we will never understand, because my science can’t do what you do. I know he shot himself, that… whoever he was. I know you shook hands before he did.

And I know that when we found him— when I found the body… 

He was smiling. 

People don’t smile when they kill themselves.

It doesn’t make sense.

There is fucking rainwater seeping into my shoes, and it’s freezing. 

I don’t bloody know what happened. I am… I am not the great bloody Sherlock Holmes, and I can’t figure it out. I just know that something isn’t right.

So stop mucking around, you tosser. 

Get your arse back here and help us.


End file.
